


The Holding Cell

by Some_Dwarven_Writer



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Angst, Canon Compliant, Cardassian Culture, Episode: s04e26 Broken Link, M/M, Missing Scene, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Slow Burn, cardassian cultural norms, elim garak hasn't dealt with his trauma, julian bashir cares about evil aliens too much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:02:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29764881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Some_Dwarven_Writer/pseuds/Some_Dwarven_Writer
Summary: This scene is a dissection of Garak’s motivations in ‘Broken Link’ (S4E25) and Julian’s reaction. It takes place between seasons 4 and 5 while Garak was supposed to be incarcerated (not that we saw any of that time in the show). A refresher for anyone who forgot what happened in ‘Broken Link’; after being told that Tain was dead and that the founders planned on destroying Cardassia, Garak tried to destroy the founder’s homeworld which would have ostensibly doomed both him and the crew of the Defiant. He was thwarted by Worf. Also, the founders made Odo human for a bit.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	The Holding Cell

Garak supposed he had gotten off with a rather light sentence. That was the federation for you; leniency to the point of incompetence. On Cardassia he would have been killed in a public and quite painful manner. Attacking an officer and sabotage alone would have made his last living moments worse than torture. But no, that was too brutal for the federation. He would live. If being bored out of one’s mind for six months and watching the galaxy fall apart behind the glowing beams of a containment field could be considered living. 

DS9 had always been a self-imposed prison sentence but at least before his imprisonment, he’d been able to contact people, to know things. Sure, he had enough experience to get around most of Odo’s security measures but it was the doing so that became difficult. The former changeling was unfortunately quite good at his job and kept a close eye on Garak. At least the challenge of it gave his mind something to do. Still, even that grew tiresome eventually. The truly painful part was that Garak was starved for conversation. It wasn’t a feeling he was unfamiliar with. Few bajorans went out of their way to talk to the lone cardassian on the station, fewer still when the occupation was more fresh in everyone's collective memory. Recently, Garak had grown used to indulging in real, good conversation. Something with more structure, more competition, and more layered meaning. Something that was greater than the hollow corpse of discourse that Odo and his security officers offered. But even their pitiful words were appreciated after a time. When left to silence and boredom too long Garak tended to dislike where his mind wandered. 

Garak hadn’t seen Dr. Bashir since he’d been escorted off the Defiant. A pity. Cardassia was still doomed and all Garak had to show for his efforts was a broken friendship and a few months in a holding cell. He sucked in a deep breath. His chest ached as though he’d taken in a lungful of ice. The constable would change the temperature and humidity settings in his holding cell if he asked but Garak refused to show weakness. He refused to let anyone know just how much this incarceration was getting to him. Even if Odo was a friend. A friend. His little sabotage plan would have led to the deaths of his only friends and he’d been more than willing to go through with it. Still, despite everything Tain had put him through, Garak would do anything for family. He’d lose anything for the betterment of Cardassia. His heart clenched uncomfortably. Maybe there was something to this federation form of punishment after all. It was becoming a better torture device than Garak had imagined it would be. 

He shifted, turning his back on the rest of the room, exposing himself to the danger. It made Garak twitchy but what was the likelihood someone could get past Odo or his guards without their say-so? About thirty to one. He’d spent a while balancing the odds of the constable returning to the holding cells one morning to find a cold corpse in Garak’s place. The odds of someone killing him were quite a bit higher than they had been when he was free but not uncomfortably so. There were a few small changes he could make to decrease the odds such as not exposing his back to a room. 

Footsteps. Garak opened his eyes, training them on a patch of the gray holding cell wall and concentrating on the sound. The person that approached wasn’t trying to disguise their heavy footfalls. They had been loud enough for even Garak’s poor ears to hear. It was only one person. The gate wasn’t right for Odo and the pace was too fast for Ziyal. A guard maybe? Perhaps another prisoner had a visitor again. Garak hoped so. The most interesting discourse he’d heard in weeks was between a rather intoxicated bajoran and her federation partner. The women had spent a rather long time squabbling over the bajoran’s drinking habits before the root of the problem was dug up. Garak had lapped it up, the noisy argument felt like hearing his favorite piece of music after years without any song. Apparently, the federation officer was bad at expressing her feelings, and the bajoran tended to cope with the stressors of impending doom by drinking rather than talking to her lover. That was about when Garak had realized his meddling was needed. With a bit of coaxing, the pair had exchanged exclamations of their undying love and had promised to stop by his shop when it reopened. They’d been a lovely pair which had only made the silence after their departure all the more unbearable. 

The footsteps stopped. By Garak’s estimate, the visitor stood at the center of the room. He doubted whether they would be able to tell if he was awake or not. Best not to give up the game. Garak’s chest rose and fell in the slow rhythmic waves usually associated with sleep. The silence passed in the same monotonous rhythm. Every muscle in Garak’s body itched to spring into action. Patients. In all likelihood, the visitor wasn’t there for him. 

“Garak?” The voice was soft, barely above a whisper. Garak struggled to keep his expression neutral, muscles tensing at the uncomfortable turbulence in his chest. He doubted the visitor was there to mend a friendship and knew the other man hadn’t come all the way to the holding cells for enlightening conversation. Whatever had brought the young man to his cell, there was no reason for Garak to be hasty.

He sighed. Garak had given up the game by unconsciously freezing at the sound of his name being spoken through such charming lips. He rose and turned slowly, arranging his expression into something pleasant and welcoming, “Doctor. It’s so good of you to visit me.” Dr. Bashir stood in the middle of the room, his golden eyes quick to meet and hold Garak’s gaze. There had always been something so warm, inquisitive, and impossibly beautiful about those eyes. At least, there had been in his memories. Today although, those extraordinary eyes seemed tempered and colder than Garak had remembered. He felt his body stiffen. 

“Yes, well,” The doctor strolled forward, stopping before the containment field of Garak’s holding cell. Bashir shifted, fidgeting with the cuffs of his uniform, “I’ve been busy.”

Garak cocked a brow ridge, “No one is in any serious danger, I hope?” 

Bashir shook his head, “No, nothing out of the ordinary,” He paused, shifted his stance, and glanced away from Garak, “I’m simply... busy.” Garak pursed his lips. Conceding the match so early? Garak had forgotten how bad at subterfuge his friend- his former friend was. 

Garak nodded, pretending to believe the explanation would make Bashir more comfortable. It was the least he could do, “Of course. I expect it is much harder to find time to pay a visit to a prisoner than it is to share a meal.” 

“Yes, exactly!” The doctor sighed, some of the tension leaving his body. It was still there in the tight pull to lips, but his eyes didn’t seem so distant anymore. Garak let the silence grow between them, using it as a tool. It was a scalpel he used to cut away at any excess conversation. There was no need for it. This would hurt enough without pleasantries. After a while, Dr. Bashir spoke again, “I wanted to talk with you,” There was a steadiness in his tone; a comforting certainty in the stillness of his expression. Garak watched the other man, his hands clasped before him.

“If I am not mistaken, that is precisely what we’re doing,” Garak gave the doctor a patient smile. 

Bashir scoffed, “Helpful as ever. Thank you, Garak.” The man in question spread his hands graciously. Bashir took a deep breath, using it to iron out his posture. Head held high, he spoke again, “I wanted to say that I don’t blame you and that I’m not upset. You did what you thought was right. You were wrong but that’s not particularly unusual.”

Garak felt his lips curling on the edges, “My dear doctor, I am correct about most things; especially literature. But perhaps,” He conceded, with an inclination of his head, “I was wrong this time.”

Bashir gaped at Garak for a moment, his stoic and certain veneer melting away to be replaced by the interesting young man that spent his lunches waxing about philosophy with Garak. Per usual, he recovered quickly, “I admit, I’m surprised.” 

“The feeling is mutual,” Garak agreed, getting to his feet and stepping up to the force field, “I never expected...” He held his tongue, careful not to give up too much information, “On Cardassia, I wouldn’t have lived long enough to share any words with you.” Or to accept forgiveness. Again. Forgiveness Garak knew he didn’t deserve. Still, with the genuine way it was given, he couldn’t help but appreciate it. And to appreciate Dr. Bashir as well. 

Bashir’s chin rose, “I think it’s an admirable quality of yours.”

"An admirable quality?" Garak’s brow ridges fell together, “What is?”

Bashir held his gaze, “Your willingness to sacrifice yourself for your people despite everything they have done to you. You’ve been disgraced, scorned, and barred from your home for longer than I’ve known you, yet still, you would die to save the soul of Cardassia,” He shook his head, “The only thing is, I don’t think you realize that you don’t need to die to sacrifice yourself for your people.”

Garak blinked. In a moment of surprising candor, he muttered, “There aren’t many other alternatives I see on this side of the containment field.”

The doctor sighed, shaking his head, “No, I don’t suppose you would.” Garak looked away. Silence distanced them more than the glowing field between them.

“Doctor?” He spoke with uncertainty in his tone, “I may consider what you have said.”

Garak watched the tension break, a smile alighting the other man’s features, “That’s all I can ask,” He paused, “So- er- I finished that book of poetry you loaned me.” 

Garak felt his shoulders relax, “And?”

“Are you sure it was poetry?” Bashir asked, disbelief written across his open expression, “There was no heart to it. I barely noticed any metaphors.”

“Yes, you wouldn’t notice them,” Garak felt himself smiling a true smile for the first time since he’d been placed in the cell. The pair carried on as though they were only separated by a dining table, not a containment field. Some of the tension he’d seen in the young doctor’s shoulders released the longer they carried on. They’d both needed it. Their conversation grew longer than usual, taking them late into the night without either of them noticing. The station lights were low by the time Bashir departed. He promised he’d return in his free time. 

At the least, Garak was glad he hadn’t lost a friend. That was more of a relief than he’d expected it to be. Now, if only he had the bravery of the federation officer and the bajoran woman. The bravery to say things that he meant when he spoke. Someday. Maybe. As for now, he would enjoy the conversation Dr. Bashir had so willingly offered.

**Author's Note:**

> I hate that I called Julian by his last name the entire fic too. Unfortunately, we are in third person limited and I tend to think cardassians have a THING about first names. Also, I make angst.... maybe someday I won't but today is not that day. Anyway, hope you enjoyed your read!


End file.
